The Perfect Blend
by TenRose4ever
Summary: Trying to escape from an predatory ex-girlfriend who will not accept their break-up, James Noble (aka The Doctor) finds himself in a coffee shop where he meets a barista (aka Rose Tyler) who makes him the perfect cup of tea and lends a sympathetic ear to his tale of woe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes:**

A gift for my fellow Fangirl and Secret Santa recipient, LizAnn_5869. I hope you like it, hon. You offered me loads of brilliant suggestions and prompts to work from, and I produced quite a bit for several of them, but none that felt quite right. Then I looked over your prompt list again, under the category "Tropes I Like" and _fake dating_ was right there! I added a dash of _coffee shop AU_ and this was born.

Merry Christmas!

Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas, rose_nebula and mrsbertucci. You make me so much better. mrsbertucci is the Empress of Title-Creation: she came to my rescue once again with both the title for this fic and the name of Rose's coffee shop.

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**The Perfect Blend - Chapter 1**

James Noble peered furtively past the swags of garland, fairy lights, and tinsel to the damp, snowy London evening beyond the coffee shop window.

Nothing. No one there.

He blew a shaky breath past his lips. It had been a narrow escape. He was safe for now, but really, it was only a matter of time before _she_ found him.

He was doomed.

Running a hand through his wild, brown hair, he stepped into line and turned his attention to the menu above the counter, skimming over the bewildering selection of beverages with long, complicated titles and eccentric, festive flavours, piled high with whipped creams and syrups. Any other day he would have relished one of the sweet, creamy concoctions.

But today was different.

Today, he wanted to get back to basics.

Today he wanted to get away from drinks for overbearing people with expensive tastes and the need to impress. Today he wanted to take a break from extravagance and pretensions.

He snapped his glasses into place and scanned the menu board, searching in vain for a simple, uncomplicated coffee. It was a bloody _coffee_ shop, for pity's sake! _Pete's Coffee Dimension_. Surely, they served regular coffee.

"Sir?"

He was dragged from his musings by the query and found himself goggling absently at the cashier in front of him. Somehow, while he hadn't been paying attention, he had ended up at the front of the line.

"I asked you what you would like to order…" She was watching him with slightly narrowed eyes, one dark brow tilted in an impatient arch. Even the tip of her blonde ponytail seemed to twitch impatiently. "If you need a little more time–" She glanced over his shoulder at the line of people behind him.

"No! No, no, no, no! That's fine. I'd like, erm…" His hand ruffled his hair again and his left foot jittered against the floor, as he glanced over his shoulder, out the shop window again and then back up at the menu board.

"Blimey, you all right there, mate?" The hint of a bemused smile curved the cashier's full lips. "You don't look like you should really have any more coffee…"

"No, quite right… Nor sugar." He snorted a strangled laugh and shook his head. "I erm… I just want–"

"A cuppa?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "Is that possible? I mean…" He gestured vaguely at the menu.

"Course! How about something light and simple. Darjeeling, perhaps?"

He felt the tension within him ease a little at the thought of a hot cup of tea. "Erm… yeah. Brilliant… With a splash of milk, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing. China or paper?"

"Erm…"

"Never mind. China it is. And your name for the order, please."

"Erm… The Doctor."

"The Doctor, hmmm? Interesting…" She quirked her brow again, but this time her brown eyes sparkled warmly at him. "Go on, then, _Doctor_. You take a seat over there," she nodded to a small, free table by the window, "and I'll bring your tea over once it's steeped, yeah?"

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's on me, mate," she offered with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Really? Oh... weeell, thank-you." Before heading to his table, he dug in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a large assortment of coins which he stuffed into the tip jar sitting by the cash register.

"Clara? Could you take over here for a bit, please," Rose Tyler asked her friend. "I need to take some tea to a customer."

The petite brunette smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "The Doctor, hmmm? He's quite good looking… for a bloke. Not your usual type, though."

"Shut up," Rose stuck her tongue out at Clara. "He's just a customer. He seems a little out of sorts, so I'm doing something nice for him. That all right? And besides, I don't have a _type_…"

"Whatever you say…" Clara shook her head and turned to take over at the cash register. "You go take your break."

"Thanks." Rose picked up the little teapot and cup, set them on a tray, and examined them with a critical eye. "Clara? Are the gingerbread biscuits ready to be served? You were icing them earlier, yeah?"

"Oh, _now_ he's getting a biscuit, too. Oh, Rose, you have it bad."

"I don't even know him! 'Sides, can't have a cuppa without a biscuit, can you?"

"Well, he's out of luck. They're not quite ready yet. The icing hasn't had time to set properly. They're supposed to be for tomorrow." Something in Rose's expression must have affected her, because the next thing Rose knew, Clara had changed her tune: "Oh, go on, then. Take one. _One,_ mind."

"Thanks, Clara," Rose grinned, rushing to the kitchen to snag one of the pretty gingerbread stars. She laughed. Sometimes it was hard to tell that Rose was the one who owned Pete's Coffee Dimension and Clara was the employee. But the two girls had known each other from Powell Estate for years and had discovered they worked together exceptionally well.

Plating the biscuit, she added it to the tray and carried the lot over to where _The Doctor_ was seated. He was leaning on his elbows, his face in his hands, a picture of misery. "Hey there." Rose spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

The Doctor lifted his head and offered her a strained but genuine smile. Rose felt her insides turn to jelly as his sad, chocolate eyes met hers.

"Here you go, then." She placed the teapot and cup on the table. Setting the biscuit next to them, she added, "And you can't have a cuppa without one of these. Clara just made them fresh and her gingerbread is second to none!"

"Thank-you! It looks delicious, but you shouldn't have."

"Oi! No arguments. You put enough change in the tip jar to pay for the next three customers, never mind a single biscuit. Besides, you looked like you could use one."

"You aren't wrong…" The Doctor picked up the teapot and poured out a cup of tea.

Rose stood beside the table, biting her lower lip in eager anticipation as he took his first sip. She had learned from her mum how to make the very best cuppa and hoped this particular pot was somehow imbued with Jackie Tyler's tea-making magic. She wasn't disappointed.

"Blimey, that's good!" the Doctor closed his eyes as he swallowed the first small mouthful. "Tea! That's just what I needed!" he enthused. "A good cup of tea! Nothing quite like that super-heated infusion of free-radicals and tannin."

Rose simply stared at him for a moment, nonplussed. "Well, that's a first." She chuckled. "Never heard tea described exactly that way before! I take it that's a good thing?"

"Oh, yes! The perfect blend!" He then snapped one of the biscuit-star's arms off with his teeth. "Not to mention," he added, crumbs spraying from his lips, "the numerous health-benefits of ginger!"

Rose smiled, warmed through by his enthusiastic, if eccentric, response. "Well… enjoy." She turned to go back to work at the service counter when he spoke again.

"Best thing to happen to me all day, and that's no lie!"

"You did seem a little out of sorts…" she ventured, turning back to him.

He grumbled with a shake of his head. "It's my ex, Jeanne Poisson."

"I'm sorry. Break-ups are always sticky, aren't they?"

He nodded. "Sticky doesn't cover it! She's more than sticky. She's like Super Glue. She just won't take no for an answer and it's been over a year since I've properly seen her! And today, on the last day of classes before the holidays, she shows up at my office at the Uni." He gestured with his thumb in the direction of campus. "I thought I was done for! I just barely escaped without her seeing me. Fortunately, I know all the service hallways like the back of my hand. (I never would have made it by the conventional routes.) Even so, I swear I could hear her heels clicking on the pavement behind me. So, I ducked into your lovely establishment and found refuge… _and_ the best cuppa in London!"

With these last words, he beamed at Rose, who settled into the chair opposite him, continuing to worry her lower lip between her teeth. "Is she really that bad?" she asked, her eyes wide and fixed on him, dying to hear the rest of his story.

"Oh, yes! Though, not if you ask Aunt Sylvia." He rolled his eyes, dramatically. "_She_ loves her. She's just dying to have her (and her considerable fortune) become a part of our family. Mind you, she's the only one. Gramps and my cousin, Donna, agree she's toxic."

"If she's so toxic, I'm surprised you were ever attracted to her at all," Rose blurted. She backtracked quickly. "Sorry… that wasn't very polite…"

"Nah, don't worry. I was an idiot, not thinking entirely with my head. She was beautiful and exciting, and I was in the final months of my previous Ph.D. She was finishing up law school."

"Wait! Your _previous_ Ph.D.? You're so young!" He looked to be in his late twenties, only a few years older than her, Rose thought. "How many Ph.D.'s do you have?"

"Oh, I'm working on my third, right now. Genius me! Hence the name, _The Doctor_. It's what my friends call me. Started off as a joke, but it stuck."

"You think you're so impressive," Rose chided good-naturedly.

"Weeell, I _am_ so impressive." Rose should have been put off by his claim, but he spoke as though he was simply stating a truth, not boastful at all. "I really am classified as a genius. I have a permanent faculty and research position at the Uni, as well as being a sort-of student."

"Oh…" Rose suddenly felt small next to him. She hadn't even completed her A-levels, and here she was ostensibly flirting with a university professor (and multiple-time doctorate genius.) As if she would ever stand a chance. Still, he _was_ rather nice to look at: tall and slim, the tan coat and brown pin-stripe suit enhancing his large, dark eyes and soft, haphazard peaks of brown hair. He had some _really_ great hair…

She was brought out of her musings by the sound of his voice: "I've always been very clever. Just not about choosing girlfriends," he muttered around another bite of gingerbread and a gulp of tea. "I'm a bit stupid around girls!"

"Don't say that!" Rose hurt for him.

"It's the truth. I don't have a great track record… not that the track is particularly long." He tugged on his ear and his cheeks flushed pink.

Rose instinctively reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. A sudden tension flared between them as Rose realized how forward she'd been, and she hesitantly retracted her hand from his, moving it away in fits and starts, clinging to some ridiculous delusion that she was being stealthy and he might not notice that she'd touched him in the first place.

"So, right, erm…" He glanced down at the teapot, picking it up to refill his cup. There was an awkward few moments of silence before he spoke again. With a sigh, he lifted his eyes to Rose's. "It was like she had me under some kind of spell. It felt like she could read into my soul and see how lonely I was, and then… weeell, then she kissed me, and it was brilliant. Blimey! All I could think was Jeanne Poisson, this posh, popular girl had kissed sad, geeky, old me."

"Gosh, I know how that feels," Rose commiserated, thinking of her dangerous obsession with wannabe Estate-born rock star, Jimmy Stone. She'd quit school and broken her mum's heart for him, leaving home to move in with the wanker. But for a short time, before reality had set in, it had felt like she'd been on top of the world.

"At first, we had so much fun," the Doctor's words mirrored Rose's thoughts, "but it didn't take long for me to realize she wasn't right for me. She was demanding, wanting expensive gifts, and always dragging me to exclusive clubs. Not my thing. Not even a little bit. And she was always wanting to know exactly what I was doing when she wasn't around. She was very controlling. I was miserable."

"Didn't you try to break it off?"

"Multiple times. I still am! She just will not accept the fact that I'm not interested and certainly not the right man for her. I'd thought when she went back to France to work in her mum's law firm, that would be it. I figured we were going our separate ways. But she kept texting me and trying to video-chat. I kept telling her it was over, and eventually had to change my mobile number."

"And did that help?"

"For a while. But she ferreted out my new one. I suspect Aunt Sylvia gave it to her," his fist clenched, "but, I suppose it could have been anyone at work, acting innocently enough."

"And now she's back…"

"And now she's back. Last text I got was that she wanted to surprise me. Well, count me surprised!"

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Rose's hand fluttered in the direction of his again, and she had to restrain herself from touching him.

"I am too." He tossed back his last mouthful of tea and crammed the remains of the biscuit into his mouth. "Well, I've bored you long enough. Thanks so much for listening to me moan. You've been brilliant! But I best be off. I think the coast is clear for now. Besides, it looks as though you're needed at the counter." He nodded toward the ever-growing line of people dropping in for a post-work coffee before venturing out to shop for the holidays.

"Oh, shit, I nearly forgot!" She giggled. "Some barista, I am, yeah? Listen, I gotta run. Hope you'll come back. I'd love to chat again… Doctor!" Rose flushed as the flirty words erupted from her mouth.

"Oh, for a cup of tea like that, you'll never be able to keep me away!" He offered her a broad smile and called out, "And Happy Christmas!" before slipping out the front door of the shop.

"Happy Christmas!" Rose waved after him, returning to work with a skip in her step and doing her best to ignore Clara's pointed looks and cheeky, knowing grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Summary: **James successfully manages to avoid Jeanne in the days leading up to Christmas, but when he arrives at his family's home for Christmas dinner, as surprise awaits him.

**Chapter Notes:** My love for my betas knows no bounds. rose_nebula and mrsbertucci, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy holiday schedule to help me make this chapter better.

In addition, this chapter needed a wee bit of help from my fantastic French-speaking Fangirls… just to make things sound more natural: Melusine0811 kindly read over this story and gave me some brilliant suggestions; and Elialys also gave me some advice through the grapevine. Merci, mes chéries!

Finally, many thanks to a bunch of the Fangirls for brainstorming with me!

I am surrounded by brilliant women!

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**Chapter 2**

James was unreasonably proud of himself. Somehow over the last few days, he had managed to avoid Jeanne _almost_ completely. Weeell, after all, he was a genius and one of the hallmarks of a genius was being able to think outside the proverbial box. In order to avoid run-ins with his rapacious ex-girlfriend, he had determined he simply needed to be outside _his_ box.

In short, he needed to be where he was least expected to be.

James Noble had gone Christmas shopping.

As much as he hated navigating the throngs of humanity and the capitalist over-commercialization that was an unfortunate feature of the Christmas season in the 21st Century, shopping not only hid him from Jeanne Poisson, but it meant that his family would actually receive proper gifts from him this year, and not just 'gifts-in-kind'.

Aunt Sylvia had not been impressed with his in-kind gift of the previous year, improvements to her old blender. Although to be honest, he couldn't really blame her. It had leaped off the counter, spewing her (disgusting) pea soup everywhere and nearly taking Donna's toes off when the blades, in a bid for freedom, had rushed across the kitchen floor and torn through her slippers. This year, Aunt Sylvia would receive a brand new, state-of-the-art blender (completely unimproved by him), and Donna was getting a new pair of steel-toed slippers (extensively improved by him) as an extra precaution against rogue blenders, and with the added benefit of protecting his cousin from stubbing her toes.

Gramps was the only one in the family who truly appreciated James' attempts at tinkering, but this year, instead of making him a cobbled-together gadget, James had bought him an ultra-high-tech, backyard telescope. No tinkering required. His old spyglass had taken a beating over the years, and while James had (mostly) managed to repair (and enhance) it multiple times, there was no doubt it needed replacing. James saw it as his familial duty to provide the dear old man with a means to escape the constant harping from his daughter and get lost among the stars whenever he needed to.

On James' first day of hiding, after responding tersely to a text message from Jeanne, hoping she would finally cotton-on to the idea that he was no longer interested in pursuing any sort of relationship with her, he had gone into tech-silent mode, keeping his phone turned off, and only occasionally responding to emails from his Grandad and Donna.

Despite trying hard to stay hidden in plain sight, James had still managed to find time to return to his usual habitat, working in his lab (improving Donna's slippers, among other things,) but he had always slunk in by the service hallways, after hours, and made very sure that no one had seen him coming or going. He even slept on the sofa in his office at the back of the lab to avoid detection.

All in all, he had had a rather productive few days.

He had only two regrets: one, that he hadn't had the guts to confront Jeanne in person; and, two, that he had also been too cowardly to return to Pete's Coffee Dimension, even though there had been plenty of times over the days of his seclusion that a good cuppa (and a smile from the pretty barista) would have gone down a treat.

That was him, though: a coward every time.

His mind had been drawn to the girl from the coffee shop more times than he would like to admit. But despite the lovely blonde barista's friendly demeanor, he was quite certain she would never want to see him again, after the way he had practically vomited his tale of woe at her. He was frankly embarrassed by the entire event, despite how much better he'd felt having had someone to share his frustrations with. It had not been the best first impression, all told. She must have thought he was nothing short of a spineless catastrophe.

She wouldn't have been wrong.

Not that it mattered. He was not interested in getting involved with any girl at the moment, no matter how kind and smart and lovely she was. He was still reeling from his experiences with Jeanne, and he'd be doing the barista a favour by not getting to know her any better. With his emotions running high at the time, he hadn't even bothered to find out her name. Clearly, he was utterly useless at initiating (never mind maintaining) a healthy, romantic relationship with _any_ woman.

And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about her: how easy she was to talk to; how her bright, brown eyes had gazed at him with compassion and understanding; and in that brief moment, when she had covered his hand with hers, he'd felt as though her soul had touched his.

But then she'd withdrawn her hand, and there'd been a moment of emptiness and awkwardness before he'd resumed telling her about his early infatuation with Jeanne. But she'd still listened to him and it seemed she'd understood him in a way no one else had ever been able to.

_… __It felt like she could read into my soul and see how lonely I was… _The memory of the words he had spoken to her about Jeanne's effect on him flared in his mind.

He bolted upright from his place on the lab office sofa, mental alarms thrashing against the inside of his skull. It was all so frighteningly familiar, the draw he had to the barista. He couldn't allow himself to be sucked into another toxic, infatuation-driven relationship. No, he would stay away from Pete's Coffee Dimension and the pretty barista at all costs.

He dragged a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven o'clock in the morning. December 25th. He hauled himself off the sofa. He needed to get back to his flat for a proper shower and some fresh clothes before heading over to his family for Christmas tea.

A few hours later, he was staggering up the front walk of his family home under the weight of several brightly wrapped parcels and a pretty Christmas bouquet he had picked up for Aunt Sylvia. He was under no illusion that she would be furious at him for his unnotified disappearance over the last few days and would be hell-bent on making his life miserable while he was trapped under her roof. He understood it was just her rather unique way of showing how much she cared but he still hoped the flowers (and the new blender) would help to blunt her sharp tongue a little.

The front door flew open just as he was juggling his packages so he could reach the doorbell. "Oh, you owe me big time, Space-dunce," Donna snapped, standing before him, red hair crackling around her face, hands on her hips. "I've had to entertain that psychopath all day."

"Happy Christmas to you too, Donna." He offered his cousin a bemused, sarcastic smile as he tried to sort out what she'd meant by her strange declaration.

Aunt Sylvia's severe face appeared in the doorway from behind Donna's left shoulder. "Oh, he's bothered to show up, has he? After days of us not knowing where he was, bearing actual gifts, no less. No doubt they'll all kill us in our sleep."

"Oi!" James shifted his weight to balance the pile of gifts more effectively, "they will _not_ kill you or even maim you. And I'm sorry about my radio silence, but I was trying to avoid–"

"Mon cheri! James! T'es arrivé!"

"–Jeanne…" He blinked in disbelief at the face that appeared over Donna's other shoulder. (Presumably Donna's aforementioned psychopath.)

"Oh, and you brought to me des fleurs," she exclaimed, pushing past Donna and plucking the bouquet off the top of his pile. "They are magnifique! Merci!"

"Wait! No! Urrrrghh…"

"Oh, they _are_ lovely!" Sylvia remarked. "It would be nice if someone brought _me_ flowers once in a while…" She shot James a pointed look.

"But… I… urrrrghh…"

"Oh, I have missed you so much, James!" Jeanne leaned over the top of the gifts and planted her mouth over James' in an impassioned kiss. He recoiled and sputtered as she finally broke away, desperate to wipe the taste of her from his lips.

"How about we let him come in?" Sylvia suggested. "Come dear," she led Jeanne away, "let's put these flowers in some water, shall we? James, hurry up, then!"

Jeanne tossed James a coy smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the house with Sylvia, her eyes smoldering. "See you soon, mon cheri. I cannot wait to get my hands on you properly…"

Donna fixed him with a rather frightening gleam in her eye, then leaned toward him, jostling the packages in his arms, nearly causing him to drop them. As she wiped Jeanne's lipstick from the side of his mouth with her thumb, she whispered in his ear, "Great. Outer space. Dunce."

"But…"

"Oh, just get in here," she hissed, "you bloody idiot! Gramps is waiting for you!"

"I _am_ trying, but _someone_ seems to be blocking my way." He made a show of shoving past her, down the hallway and into the lounge. "You gonna help me, or what?" he called back to her.

"There he is! There's our boy!" Gramps stood up from his armchair next to the fireplace, arms outstretched, to greet James. He was wearing two mismatched sets of reindeer antler headbands.

"Thought you'd be happy, Dad, now that he's here," Sylvia snarked, coming into the room from the kitchen with a vase full of flowers and Jeanne in tow.

"Too right, I am!"

"James, you should have heard him moaning, wondering when you'd turn up." She rolled her eyes and glanced over at her father, who was helping divest James of some of his parcels. She huffed, "And, Dad, would you take those bloody things off your head?"

"No, I shan't! It's Christmas."

"And maybe put on some nicer clothes. Honestly! We have company; you'd think you could dress up a bit."

James opened his mouth, ready to leap to his Grandad's defense, but the old man beat him to it. He straightened up from where he was stuffing one of James' gifts under the tree and fixed his gaze on Sylvia. "Well, this is my house, young lady, and the company," he nodded toward Jeanne, "will have to be content with me dressed as I am. It's Christmas and I'm comfortable. So there!"

James glanced at Jeanne who was observing Gramps with a critical eye. "Oui," she conceded in her typical condescending tone, "it is your home, I suppose. Of course, you can wear what you like."

James glared at her as she pursed her lips in distaste and felt his heart wrench when he saw the hurt on his dear Gramps' face at her contempt. "Quite right too!" James declared, smiling fondly at Gramps as the older man took another armload of gifts from him. He was wearing his traditional Christmas berry-red cardigan over a checked, red and green shirt, and his usual brown trousers. The outfit was a bit shabby, but familiar and comfortable, a Christmas day staple.

"Oh, I should say," Donna piped up, entering the room and taking the last of the gifts from James. "Christmas is supposed to be about family and giving and tradition, yeah, and anyone who thinks otherwise can stuff it."

Jeanne gasped and uttered a French oath under her breath, and Sylvia barked, "Donna Noble!"

Gramps mollified Donna, "Oh, sweetheart, that's enough. Nothing to get fussed about. Everyone is entitled to their opinion."

"Their wrong opinion…" Donna grumbled just loud enough for James to hear.

"Let's all just try to get along, yeah. How about we open some pressies and open a bottle of Christmas cheer?"

James took the opportunity to pull a Santa hat from the deep pockets of his coat. He arranged it on his head with a broad (if forced) grin. "Sounds perfect! I'll be Santa, then, shall I?"

He looked pointedly at Donna, who grudgingly got the message. "And I'll be barkeep!"

"Try not to poison Aunt Sylvia or Jeanne, hmmm?" James muttered privately to her.

"Oh, I'll let Mum live… this year. That French bint, though… no guarantees. And let's face it, it would solve any number of problems."

James choked back a chuckle and situated himself on the floor by the unusually posh-looking Christmas tree.

"A fine plan," Jeanne sniffed as she promenaded toward the sofa. There she stopped and swept off one of the seats with a disdainful hand, before perching herself coquettishly on the edge.

James had to bite his tongue to keep himself from scolding the blonde upstart and a low rumble emanated from Donna.

"James, come 'ere and sit with me," Jeanne demanded, patting the cushion beside her. "I've been so lonely without you by my side, and it's unseemly to sit on the floor like that."

"No thanks," he replied with a forced smile, "I'm fine right where I am."

"You are playing (… 'ow you say?) 'ard-to-get, comme d'hab. T'es filou!" she simpered, making James feel as though he might vomit. He had just opened his mouth to contradict her, when she spoke again in an imperious tone to Donna. "And I will have a Kir Royale."

Donna's eyes narrowed, shooting daggers at Jeanne. "Oh, I'll just go fetch the champagne and Cassis, then, shall I?" Sarcasm dripped from her words. "It should be right next to the caviar and quails' eggs. Try again, Blondie."

"I'll have a martini, Donna," Sylvia quickly interjected, her gaze darting between the two fiery young women. "You know how I like it."

"Oh, I suppose, if you do not 'ave the Cassis, a martini could be refreshing," Jeanne conceded. "Very dry. Shaken, not stirred, with two small olives, exactement. And don't use one of those 'orrible wooden picks. They change the flavour of the drink. Plastic only for me."

"I'll give you a wooden pick, right through the heart," James heard Donna mumble as she turned to the sideboard to mix the drinks, and he stifled another laugh. "Gramps, a scotch, neat, for you?"

"Right you are, my darling!"

"What about you, Spaceman?"

"I'll just grab a beer from the fridge," he said, jumping up and moving to the kitchen. "Want one?"

"Yeah, please."

As he cracked the two bottles open, he asked, "Glass?"

"Nah, the bottle's fine, ta!" Donna's response elicited a pair of identical haughty sighs from Jeanne and Sylvia. James and Donna smirked at each other when he reappeared from the kitchen, and they clinked their bottles together in triumph.

"Right then! Time for presents!" James returned to his place by the tree, took a swig from his bottle, and adjusting his Santa hat, pulled a present toward him. "Aunt Sylvia! This one's for you!"

James was living his worst nightmare, trapped in the same house as Jeanne, who believed he was still her boyfriend, and Aunt Sylvia, who was determined to make it so. Jeanne had pouted once the gifts were all opened that she'd received no present from him, but (in her clearly delusional state) had concluded that he intended to give her something privately, later. "Une bague, peut-être?" she had teased with a cheeky conspiratorial wink. "Quel allumeur!"

Donna had groaned in response. James was sure he'd caught the words "stupid bitch" from under her breath as she rolled her eyes aggressively. He was in full agreement with the sentiment. A ring? Seriously? He could not fathom under what circumstances Jeanne could ever suspect he would be planning on asking for her hand in marriage.

Tea was (impossibly) even more excruciating than the gift exchange had been, filled with many failed attempts at awkward conversation and Jeanne playing footsie with James under the table, her silk-stockinged foot, creeping up the right leg of his trousers. He eventually resorted to squirming into a cross-legged position, which resulted in his knees hanging over the edge of his chair, his left one continually poking Donna, who shot him murderous glances from the corners of her eyes. The only bright spots throughout the entire meal were that Jeanne had brought a rather superior wine to the table, so there was no complaining from her about the quality of the drink, and that Aunt Sylvia had truly outdone herself with a sumptuous meal.

James frowned. When he thought about it, Aunt Sylvia had outdone herself in many ways this year. Looking around the house, he noticed that the Christmas décor had been transformed from the usual naff but homey selection. The posh-looking, designer-decorated Christmas tree sported none of the usual cherished ornaments from his childhood; the staircase and mantel were festooned with garland matching the tree; and there were numerous other, similar changes throughout the house, some subtle, some grandiose, all of them impersonal. She was trying to impress someone, and James had a sinking feeling that someone was Jeanne Poisson.

He was jostled from his musings by Aunt Sylvia's voice from the end of the table, "…the University's New Year's Gala. What do you plan to wear, Jeanne? Not that it matters. You'll look so beautiful on James' arm, no matter what."

"No, she will not!" James blurted.

"How could she not? Look at her. Lovely."

"I don't think anyone is denying that she's beautiful, Aunt Sylvia. But she will not be beautiful _on my arm_. She will _not_ be attending the Gala _with me!"_ He felt his cheeks flush, and from the heat of his ears, he knew they must have been burning red. But even though it had been embarrassing, his outburst had at least been cathartic, and he no longer felt quite so cowardly. The words were out there for everyone to hear, and they just seemed to keep coming. "You are no longer my girlfriend, Jeanne. You haven't been for a very long time. I do not love you. I don't know how many other ways I can convince you. Why do you think I didn't get you a gift? Why do you think I didn't want to see you the minute you got into town? Why do you think I've been basically ghosting you? Hmmm?"

"Oh, such nonsense!" Sylvia retorted. "Don't be so stupid, James. Of course, she's your girlfriend, and you'll be taking her to the gala."

"I will not!"

"Oh my God, Mum!" Donna shouted.

"Oh, don't worry, Donna," Jeanne said. "'E likes to play these little games. 'E knows, deep inside, we are perfect for one another, don't you, James?"

Donna sputtered.

James was dumbfounded. He sat looking across the table at Jeanne, his mouth opening and closing stupidly, trying to find the words to express the turmoil of emotion inside him.

Donna elbowed him in the ribs. "Say something, Dumbo," she gritted out. "Anything!"

The silence clamoured in his ears as all eyes turned on him, and he looked at everyone in turn, lastly at his Grandad who offered him a silent, sympathetic gaze.

"I _cannot_ take you to the gala, Jeanne."

"N'importe quoi! Mais pourquoi pas?"

Everyone's gaze was fastened on him, anticipating his response.

"Erm… erm…" he stammered.

"Well?"

"I already have a date." The words (pure fiction) spewed from his mouth, bypassing his brain entirely. "My girlfriend. I'm taking my girlfriend."

The silence crashed down around him again, for several long, strained breaths.

"Well, right then…" Gramps stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back. "I'll be up on the hill, assembling my new telescope, if anyone should need me." He nodded significantly at James. Then, he retreated at an unreasonable speed for a man of his age, gathering up his parcels and throwing on his coat and hat. Within seconds, the slam of the back door resounded through the house.

And, all around James, there erupted a barrage of astonished cries and screeches of anger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **As always, a big hug of thanks to rose_nebula and mrsbertucci, for taking precious time out of their lives to beta my work. As always, all mistakes are mine.

**Summary: **James and Gramps discuss James' Christmas announcement; and on New Year's Eve, Clara and Mickey are concerned that Rose is mooning.

* * *

**THE PERFECT BLEND - CHAPTER 3**

**CHRISTMAS DAY**

James trudged up the darkened hillside at the back of the house, carrying a large flask full of tea in one hand and an old car blanket under the opposite arm. He took a long, clean breath of fresh air, relieved to have been able to slip away and leave the hubbub and bickering behind him. Despite the (rather deceptive, he thought) sense of freedom, he was feeling self-conscious, and he hesitated as he approached the old lean-to at the top of the hill.

"You don't really have a date for the gala, do you son?" Gramps' voice emanated from the rickety little shelter. "C'mon out from behind there, James. I know it's you. I'd know those footsteps anywhere. Yours and Donna's both."

James couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his face. "I brought some hot tea," he came around the corner of the lean-to to the familiar sight of Gramps sitting on his tattered, old lawn chair, the box for the new telescope opened before him, "and I thought you might like some help putting your new toy together."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact both would be very much appreciated."

James spread the blanket on the ground and knelt on it. He handed the flask to Gramps, pulled the telescope box toward him, and unpacked all the bits in front of him, organizing them and piecing them together.

"I don't think I'd get through that lot without your help. Thank-you, son."

"Oh, it's no trouble. You know how I love tinkering with things. And it's a brilliant evening for stargazing, even if it's a bit cold. I should have this in working order in no time." James turned his eyes to the stars and sighed. "It's always so peaceful up here."

"Tonight, especially so, I'll wager." Gramps took a long sip of tea. "After that bombshell you dropped on that lot."

James snorted. "Dropped it on myself, if I'm being honest. You were right, I don't really have a date for the gala. I never planned on taking a date at all. I was just looking forward to meeting with some of my colleagues out of the office and… they've asked me to put together a little firework display to bring in the New Year, so I can't just back out. The Uni wants something spectacular, something special this year. This gala is all about fundraising for the new Medical Sciences wing, after all."

"Blimey! Pyrotechnics?" Gramps gawped at him. "You're not creating that yourself, are you? Surely there are all sorts of regulations about that sort of thing."

"Weeell…" James ran a hand through his hair, "actually, its _digital_ pyrotechnics. I've developed a holographic interface to create some 3D fireworks indoors."

"I have to admit, I'm a bit relieved to hear that."

"Oh, there are still plenty of ways for it to go wrong, and if I have to spend the evening fending off _her_… But don't worry, it won't be like the blender… I swear," he added at the sight of his grandad's dubious expression. "Besides, I'm collaborating with a bunch of people from Computer Sciences and we've already had a few test runs, but I'd like to give it a bit more pizazz. A few tweaks to make it ultra-realistic.

Gramps sighed. "You know the old saying? If it ain't broke..."

"Oh, ye of little faith."

"Well, I would never have guessed you knew much about that sort of thing. You've never actually studied computer graphics, have you? Never mind something so grand as all that holographic stuff."

"Nah," he sniffed a bit boastfully, "but it isn't really a big leap from the programming I'm doing for my bionics research… Weeell, not that big. Weeell… I'm a quick study."

"My clever boy! But the question is, if you can't back out of the gala altogether, what are you going to do about the fireworks currently going off back down there?" He waved an arm in the direction of the house.

James groaned in response. "All the studying in the world won't help me with that... Oh, here, Gramps, have a look! Your telescope's ready to go."

"Oh, blimey, will you take a look at that beauty." Gramps marvelled at the telescope, rubbing his hands together. "You shouldn't have spent all that money, though…"

"C'mon… have a look. There's Saturn." James pointed to the sky. "Something easy, first, to get the hang of it. Then the universe is yours to explore."

They took turns, well into the night, peering through the telescope, sipping hot tea and discussing possible solutions for James' "French dilemma", as they'd come to refer to Jeanne.

James reminded himself he had nearly a week before the gala. He was clever and not too bad looking, if he did say so himself, even if he was a "skinny beanpole" by Donna's assertions. Surely, he wouldn't have any problem finding a suitable date by New Year's Eve, someone who would convince Jeanne, once and for all, that he had moved on.

**NEW YEAR'S EVE**

The bell jingled above the door, and Rose looked up from where she was clearing a table to greet the latest customer. It was New Year's Eve and the shop had been busy over the lunch hour as people dropped in to grab a coffee and a bite to eat before heading home to prepare for the evening's festivities. No matter how busy, she always made a point of trying to welcome everyone with a bright smile whenever she could. It was just good customer service, building loyalty, welcoming her guests. Goodness knew her little shop needed all the help it could get to stave off the competition of the big chain coffeehouses.

But perhaps she'd been trying a little harder than usual over the last week or so, her chest filling with a faint, fluttering hope that, when she looked up at the sound of the bell, it would be to the sight of tousled brown hair and sad, earnest eyes and a request for the best cuppa in London.

But it never was.

And that wisp of hope would fade, drifting away on Rose's soft sigh, her heart emptying a little more every time.

A wistful smile playing over her lips, she brought the used dishes to the counter. As she passed Clara, who was serving the latest customer, her friend arched her brow at her. Rose ignored the shrewd look and handed the dishes through the passthrough to the young dishwasher who took them from her with an overblown sigh.

"You can go home soon, Clyde. Just do this last load for me, yeah? Then a quick mop of the floor and wipe down those counters, and it'll be all spic and span, ready for the New Year."

"You sure, Miss Tyler?"

"Yeah, course. The lunch rush is over. Everyone's heading home now. I can take care of anything else that comes up."

"Thanks, Miss Tyler!"

Rose turned back to the service counter where Clara was completing an order of a Peppermint Hot Chocolate with a flourish of whipped cream and candy cane crumbs. She called out the customer's name, handed them their chocolate, then spun to face Rose. "You're mooning."

Rose fixed her with narrowed eyes, shaking her head in a teasing warning. "I am not!" Then, latching on to a perfect way to change the subject, her eyes shot to the clock. "Hey, shouldn't you be heading out by now?"

"Don't worry. I'm just about to go. The baking's all set to go for tomorrow." She grinned. "Besides, I'm not meeting Jenny at the salon for another hour. We're both going to get our hair and nails done, then we're going out to bring in the New Year in style." She winked at Rose.

Rose couldn't help but feel a bit melancholy. As much as she loved her shop, she sometimes wished she was going out to celebrate, too. But she tried to sound upbeat, for Clara's sake. "Ooooh, sounds like fun!"

"See, Rose," Clara offered her perkiest know-it-all smile, "this is one advantage of same-sex relationships. There's so much extra stuff you can do together. You should seriously consider it. You're a catch! Better that than mooning after boys."

(So much for the change of subject…)

"I am not mooning! It's just a quiet afternoon, yeah. It's just the letdown after the lunch rush. And, though I know we've had this discussion before, I'll remind you again: I'm not like you. My options remain limited to…" she blew her breath past her lips, and rolled her eyes, "…boys. Such as they are."

"I suppose… but you _have_ been mooning… for nearly _two bloody weeks_, ever since that Doctor bloke dropped in." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Shut up!" Rose's cheeks burned and she forced herself to maintain eye contact with Clara. "I have not."

"Pu-lease!" Clara chirped over her shoulder as she disappeared into the little staff room. She reappeared a few minutes later, tying the belt of her coat around her waist.

"I'm _not_ mooning," Rose insisted, failing to hide the slightly petulant tone from her voice.

"Oh, relax," Clara scoffed gently, as the bell above the door rang again, "I'm just taking the mick."

"Hey, did someone mention my name?" the familiar voice sounded from the doorway and both girls turned to greet Mickey Smith with wide smiles.

"Only in jest," Clara quipped.

Mickey stuck out his tongue at her. "See if I ever cover a shift for you again!"

Everyone laughed and Rose piped up, "Oh, you can't stay away. Not when you get to spend New Year's Eve with me."

"You're right, there, babe." Mickey gave Rose a soft, friendly peck on the cheek as he walked past her to the staff room. "Although," he called out through the door, "Martha might have something to say about that."

Mickey was Rose's oldest and closest friend. She had known him literally all her life. He was a few years older than her, and they had grown up on Powell Estate together. They'd even dated a few years back but had quickly realized they were destined only to be the best of friends. Being lovers hadn't worked for them, much to Rose's mum's chagrin. Jackie Tyler had chided Rose about getting _airs and graces_, thinking herself above dating a mechanic. It had taken a firm word from Mickey to get her to listen to reason, although she still lamented from time to time that Rose would end up an old maid.

That had been years ago, and now Mickey was dating a young surgeon, Martha Jones, who worked at the local hospital. They had met when she had brought her car to him to be repaired and had hit it off right away. A year later, he'd asked her to marry him. Rose, who had rapidly befriended Martha, was thrilled for them both.

Mickey often came to Pete's Coffee Dimension, after work at the garage, to help out and to make sure Rose, Clara, and the other employees had time for a dinner break. He often stayed the evening, chatting, when Martha was working a night shift. Tonight, he was covering Clara's shift, so she could have the evening off with Jenny. Martha was on call at the hospital and would be dropping by later, if she was free, to ring in the New Year with her fiancé and Rose.

"Right then, I'm off," Clara announced, "now that you're here to help hold down the fort, Micks. But I should warn you," she grinned, gesturing toward Rose with a jab of her thumb, "this one is mooning…"

"Oh, what's this then? Mooning? You're going to be a right misery all night, ain't ya?"

Rose snapped her arms over her chest. "You," she fixed Clara with a fierce glare, "are going to be late. And for the record," she turned her glare on Mickey, "I am _not_ mooning! End of story."

"All right, all right!" he held his hands up defensively. "You're not mooning. Blimey! Don't kill me. Not a great way to start the New Year, yeah?"

"'M not gonna kill ya." Rose drew Mickey in for a hug, then turned to Clara, pulling her in for a hug too. "Happy New Year, you. Thanks for looking out for me, both of you. Now off you go, Clara. Wish Jenny a happy New Year for us, yeah?"

"Definitely! Happy New Year!" Clara cheered, giving Rose and Mickey a last big squeeze and calling through the passthrough to Clyde before heading toward the door. "Give my love to Martha." She gave a parting wave and backed out onto the street, the bell tinkling behind her.

The shop remained quiet, a few customers straggling in through the afternoon. Clyde had long since left and Martha had texted to say she would be by shortly. Rose glanced up at the clock: just gone three.

"So, babe," Mickey fixed Rose with narrowed eyes, "I have to agree with Clara: you're not quite yourself. Deny it all you like, you are mooning. Not after some bloke, is it?"

Rose groaned.

"It _is!"_

"Look, I'm just feeling a little, I dunno…" she shrugged, "…not exactly sad, but jus'…"

"Mooning."

She smiled. "It would just be nice to have someone special to share the holidays with, ya know? To dress up and go out somewhere nice. I love the shop, I mean… it's my life, my dream. But it would be good to get out once in a while." She leaned back against the counter and laid her head on Mickey's shoulder, as he wrapped a comforting arm around her.

"You'll find someone."

"Yeah, maybe. No one as good as you, though."

"You kidding me? I was a rubbish boyfriend… at least to you. I hope I'm doin' okay with Mar."

"She thinks you're bloody wonderful. But us," she nudged him with an elbow, "we were just never good together like that. To me, you've always been a lovely friend, a big brother, yeah. Always there when I need you. But sometimes, I just feel like I want someone to be a bit more than a friend. I'm just afraid…"

"That you'll end up with another–"

"Yeah, Jimmy Stone…"

Mickey growled, "If I ever get my hands on that tosser… how he treated you…"

"Enough," she shoved him a little, knocking him off balance, "you'll scare away all the customers, looking all aggressive-like."

"Like there are so many of those…"

She frowned at him, unimpressed.

"Fine…" He grudgingly relaxed, and Rose snuggled against him again. After a few quiet moments, he spoke again, "So tell me about this bloke?"

"What bloke?"

"The one that you're mooning over. You can't lie to me, babe, I know there's someone…"

"Not really…"

"C'mon! Give."

"There's nothing to tell you. I hardly know him. It was just… a feeling… he seemed sweet. That's all. But I've only ever seen him the once."

"And…"

Rose shrugged. "He was nice, but waaaay out of _my_ league. Working on his _third_ Ph.D."

"An older man! Shit, Rose!"

"No, no! He looks like he's only a couple of years older than me," Rose giggled. "I don't think he's even thirty. He's just really clever. Says he's a genius. Like I said, out of my league. Not that it matters. He's only come in the once."

"Wait a minute! This isn't that… erm… what was it… Doctor-bloke who went gaga over your cup of tea, was it?"

Rose flushed, biting her thumb.

"It _him_, isn't it? Clara told me about him. Said you thought he was a bit fit."

"It was none of Clara's business! Nothing happened. I don't even know his proper name and he doesn't know mine. So, it don't matter, yeah."

"Well, he's an idiot if he didn't bother to come back and get it, that's all I can say. Not worth all the mooning."

Rose opened her mouth to say something more, but at that moment the bell jingling heralded another customer entering the shop.

About an hour later, Mickey huffed to himself as he wiped down the tables. Martha had arrived a little while ago, given him a quick peck on the cheek, and then she and Rose had disappeared into the kitchen ostensibly to get a start on a thorough New Year's cleaning… but Mickey knew what really was going on was a good old gossip. Either way, it left him as the front man, taking care of the customers who occasionally wandered into the shop.

The bell chimed above the door. Mickey gave the table he was tending to one last wipe and looked up to greet the man who burst into the shop on a cold blast of wintery air from the street. "'Lo," Mickey said, "Happy New Year, mate! What can I get you? Something to go?"

The man looked frantic. Even his hair looked frantic. He dragged a hand through it, making it stand up even more on end. "No… erm… no thanks. For here, please. I think I'd like to stay here for a bit." He loosened the black bow tie at his neck, leaving the ends to dangle, and unfastened the top button of his shirt. "Blimey, that's a bit better. Always feel trapped in a tux… unluckiest suit in the world. Never liked 'em… Nothing good ever came from wearing a tux." This time, he ran both hands through his hair.

"Yeah, mate, I get it. I don't like a monkey suit much either. Look, take a seat and I'll bring you a menu, but to be honest, you look like you need something a bit stronger than a posh coffee."

Mickey left to grab a menu from the stand at the front of the service counter and returned to the man, who had seated himself at a table by the window. His legs were jittering with nervous energy. He took the menu from Mickey and glanced over it with glazed eyes.

"I don't know why I'm here," he looked up from the menu. "Just putting off the inevitable. My life is over after tonight."

"Mate, you have a brand-new year coming up! New opportunities. How bad can it be, yeah?"

"You don't understand. If I don't show up with a date to the Uni Gala… _she'll…_" he spat out the word, "she'll… Fuck! I'm doomed." He slumped over the table.

"I'm sorry, man. Wish I could help."

"No," the man straightened up, "I'm sorry." He looked down at the menu again. "I'll have… hmmm… I'll have… You know what I need… I need a cup of tea. It did wonders the last time I was here."

"I can do that! Nothing like a good cuppa, yeah? Oh, blimey, my best friend, Rose (she own's this place!); well, her mum is known for making the best cuppa, and taught Rose everything she knows. But," Mickey added conspiratorially, "I honestly think Rose makes it even better. But don't tell her mum I said so… she'd flay me alive."

"Rose?" The man's expression relaxed as he muttered the name, a small smile toying with his lips. "Her name is Rose…"

This man was a bit odd, Mickey thought. Not a bad sort, just a bit odd. "Can I get _your_ name for the order then?"

"Oh, right!" He broke out of his daze. "My name, of course. The Doctor."

"The Doctor…" Mickey repeated slowly. The name was so familiar, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Yup! That's me! Just 'The Doctor'. It's easier that way. My real name's quite common."

"The Doctor…" Mickey mulled the name around in his mind again, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place. "Wait! _You're_ the Doctor! The Doctor who was in here a few days before Christmas. You ordered a cup of tea, yeah?"

The Doctor quirked a suspicious left eyebrow at Mickey. "Yeeess… a brilliant cup of tea. What about it?"

"Oh, mate! You said need a date for tonight?" Mickey had never considered himself to be much of a matchmaker. If he was being honest, it would never normally have crossed his mind. He was much more of a live-and-let-live sort of bloke. But this time, it was Rose's happiness at stake, and when it came to ensuring Rose's happiness, there were no holds barred.

"Erm… yes… yeah… but, it's too late. I'm never going to find a date at _this_ time. I told you, I'm doomed."

"Nah, not tonight, you're not. Mate, I think I may just have the answer to all of your problems!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Notes: **You'd think, with all this time in social isolation, I'd be more productive! Alas…

Hugs and kisses to the brilliant rose_nebula and mrsbertucci for looking over this chapter. They kindly did this days ago, and I kept forgetting to post! Oops! LOL

Anyway, hope you enjoy. 3

**Summary: **In which Mickey feels the need to connect the dots…

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**NEW YEAR'S EVE**

James felt cold panic clutch at his throat, stealing his breath. Here it was, late afternoon on New Year's Eve, and he had yet to secure a date for the gala. He'd had no time to continue his quest today, as he'd spent the entire day at the University, setting up his fireworks display and tinkering with the holographic projectors. Then he'd rushed home to change into his (unlucky) tuxedo. Not that he believed in such superstitious nonsense, but he couldn't help but notice, nothing good ever came of him wearing that blasted black suit.

On his return trip to the Uni for another quick systems check before guests started to arrive, he'd walked by Pete's Coffee Dimension and, despite running late, had been drawn inside. He'd been tempted by the thought of a nice, fortifying cup of something hot, maybe even the "best cuppa in London", and in the back of his mind, had been thinking maybe the pretty barista he had met there on his last visit would be there this time too. He'd been hoping to bask in her quiet compassion, even for just a few minutes before his life turned completely to hell.

But the barista hadn't been there, sadly, just some bloke, who was pleasant enough, James supposed. He'd told James the barista's name was Rose (a beautiful name that suited her perfectly!) and had just disappeared behind the counter to prepare him a cuppa, spouting some cryptic, vague assurances that he had the answer to all of James' problems.

James was not reassured. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. His heart was thrashing out of his chest. Blimey, he needed that cuppa… If he could only get it down his anxiety-tight throat.

Jeanne would be at the gala tonight, on his arm or not. She had her own ticket, he knew. And she would be relentless (proper predatory-level relentless) when she saw he'd come alone.

Despite his many varied (and increasingly desperate) attempts to do so, he hadn't been able to find anyone who was suitable (or willing) to be his plus-one for tonight. He couldn't ask his work colleagues. Most of them were considerably older than he and happily married, and he honestly didn't think for a minute he'd be able to pull off a convincing act of love with any of those few who didn't have prior attachments. He'd made some hesitant requests of the students and junior scientists he knew from various labs throughout the Science department, but they either all had plans for the evening (quite right, too!) or had just told him in no uncertain terms that they didn't want to get involved in his dating debacle (also… quite right, too!)

There had been one graduate student whom he'd been hopeful about. She worked in the lab next to his and was sweet and smart, and he had always gotten along quite well with her. He also knew her to be unattached and, while not the sort to party, thought she would enjoy a festive evening at the gala. But Petronella Osgood had nearly passed out from an anxiety-induced asthma attack the moment he proposed his ruse, and James had spent the evening in the A&E with her as she recovered from the trauma. He decided right then, he wouldn't press the matter with her any further. He didn't wish to cause her any more stress, and upon further consideration, decided he would rather suffer the horrors of Jeanne on his own, than subject the poor girl to a potential confrontation with the French woman and her nasty temperament.

With his options rapidly dwindling, he'd even considered paying for an escort, but after some frantic research, he'd discovered that even the semi-reputable ones were ridiculously pricey, and while he would have had no trouble financially, it was a bloody waste of money. Surely Jeanne had already cost him enough. Besides, quite frankly, the idea of using an escort was… weeell… repugnant.

As a last-ditch measure, he'd called on his friend, Jack Harkness, a pan-sexual playboy, and a true friend, through and through. He'd expected Jack to be more than happy to help him stage a fake coming-out, announcing he was gay. Afterall, Jack had been trying to get into James' pants for years, though not in any serious way. He was a tease, but he understood that James considered him to be a friend only… no benefits of a sexual nature attached. But, as it turned out, Jack had picked _this_ festive season to finally set aside his lecherous ways and settle down. He'd announced to James that he had a new boyfriend, Ianto Jones, with whom he was "exclusive" and had lots of "plans for private New Year celebrations."

And now… James was out of time. Doomed. And he was spending his last precious moments of a Jeanne-free life, hiding in a coffee shop, like the coward he was, desperate for a cuppa and a glimpse of an absentee barista.

He heaved a great, sad sigh, and taking off his glasses, allowed his head to sink into his hands, despair overcoming him.

"Rose! Rose!" Mickey hissed at her through the pass-through.

Rose rolled her eyes at Martha (who giggled in response) and sighed. "Honestly, Micks, can I not leave you alone for five minutes without something going wrong?" she teased as she approached the opening to the coffee bar. "What's up?"

"Well, I might not bother to tell you now, since you're being like that."

"C'mon, Micks…"

"Oh, alright. I have a customer who'd like one of your cups of tea. Wanna put the kettle on?"

"That's it? That's what you wanted to tell me?"

"Yup. You know I don't have the knack you have for making a good cuppa."

"He's not wrong," Martha piped up from behind Rose.

"Oi," Mickey protested, "I can make a decent cuppa, but as long as Rose is here… Besides, we don't want the place to get a bad rep from my one substandard cups of tea. Oh, and yeah, it's for here, so put it in one of the china cups and bring it out when it's ready, yeah?"

"Bossy!" Rose chided with a grin.

"Someone needs to take charge, otherwise the two of you would be frittering away the time, blathering on about who-knows-what."

"The nerve! I'll have you know we've completely cleaned the storage room and done inventory, while you've made a couple of espresso shots and wiped down a few tables." Rose turned to Martha. "Are you seriously planning to marry this one?"

Martha's eyes gleamed. "For better or for worse, that's what I hear. I guess this is the _worse._"

Mickey grumbled at them. "Just hurry and get out here with that cuppa, yeah." Then he turned and stomped away, out of Rose's line of sight.

Five minutes later, Rose rushed out from the kitchen, with a hot teapot of Darjeeling, a couple of complimentary biscotti, and a china cup and saucer on a tray. She paused briefly to pick up the milk from the fridge, then raised her head and stepped out from behind the service counter. She stopped short at the sight before her.

It was _him_. The Doctor.

She twisted around to look behind her, taking in Mickey's cheeky grin. "I'm gonna kill you," she mouthed, her cheeks burning.

"Go on," her friend mouthed back, gesturing her out into the seating area with a sweeping motion of his hands. Martha stepped up behind him and Rose sighed as she watched the young woman's eyes light up when Mickey whispered to her who the customer was. She clapped her hands silently together, bounced on her toes, and motioned to Rose in no uncertain terms to move her arse out there and deliver the tea.

Shaking her head at her friends, Rose turned back to the seating area and, taking a deep, fortifying breath, she moved toward the Doctor's table.

He was sat there with his head in his hands, looking miserable, his gorgeous fringe spilling through his fingers. He was wearing a tuxedo, so she assumed he had somewhere to be tonight and couldn't help but wonder why he was here instead. Unless it had something to do with that ex-girlfriend of his…

But that wasn't Rose's business. He had ordered a cuppa, and she would deliver it to him. That was her job. Nothing more to it than that.

Then why, she wondered, was her heart throbbing somewhere in the region of her throat? Why was her mouth as dry as ash and her palms hot and sweaty? Why did she feel that faint, fluttering hope rising in her chest again, the one she'd felt every time the bell over the door had rung over the last few days? The difference was, this time, the source of that hope was actually sitting right in front of her, waiting for her to deliver him a cuppa.

She fought back her giddiness. _I have to remain impartial_, she told herself. She'd probably find out he wasn't as wonderful as her memory (and imagination) had made him seem. He'd probably turn out to be a right arse. And maybe that would be for the best. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, she knew Clara was right: she'd been mooning about him since his first visit, prior to Christmas. She needed to get on with her life, and not spend her time fantasising over men she wasn't nearly accomplished enough to date. Yes, surely, he was a truly horrible person.

With that fortifying thought in mind, she stepped up to his table.

James' head shot up out of his hands when he heard the soft sound of a throat clearing hesitantly. He'd been so lost in his troubles, he'd not noticed anyone approaching his table. His bleary eyes struggled to make out the source of the sound: a haze of pink and yellow. He picked up his glasses and snapped them onto his face.

Instantly, a most welcome sight came into focus before him. The pretty barista… Rose… was standing before him, cheeks flushed the colour of her namesake, and holding a tray that held what he knew was certain to be the best cuppa in London. His troubles seemed to instantly recede in her presence. (_Of course,_ he warned himself, _they hadn't _actually_ receded, just been put on the backburner of his brain for a blessed few minutes._)

"Hello." She offered him a shy smile and flushed a deeper shade of red.

He waggled his fingers at her. "Hello."

"Hello…" she bit her bottom lip endearingly, "…Doctor."

"That's me!"

She nodded her head rapidly, fervently agreeing with this statement.

"Is that my tea?"

"Oh, blimey! Yeah… course…" With shaking hands, she unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. "Would you like me to pour?"

_He_ nodded this time, his usually non-stop gob failing him.

She set his cup in front of him and, lifting the little teapot, poured out his tea with a practiced flair, allowing a few bubbles to form on the surface. "For good luck…" she murmured, as she set the pot down.

"I'm sorry… what?"

"Oh… the bubbles… in your cup… they're supposed to predict good fortune or some such rot. Generally, financially, but if they cling to the side of the cup… erm… like these ones…" her voice dropped to nearly subaudible levels and she averted her eyes from his, "…they foretell romance."

"Romance?"

She picked at the little knit cozy covering the pot. "Erm, yeah… each bubble represents a… well… a kiss."

He beamed at her, covering her fidgeting hand with his. It was warm and soft, and fit perfectly under his. "Thank-you… Rose? Right?"

She met his gaze with wide, wondering eyes and nodded again, a bashful smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "Erm… yeah. Rose. Rose Tyler."

"Rooooose Tyyyyler." He rolled the words in his mouth, enjoying the sound and feel of them. "Weeeell, thank-you, Rose Tyler. Not that I believe in superstitions and portents, but I am prepared to suspend my disbelief for tonight. I am more than willing to entertain the possibility that you have changed my fortune with your expert tea pouring. Maybe tonight won't be the disaster I thought it was going to be, after all."

"That's the spirit!" Rose cheered.

"Would you join me?" He reflexively squeezed her hand. "For a cuppa, that is?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd… I'd like that. I'm sure I can find an extra cup around here somewhere. Coffee shop and all, yeah."

Mickey rocked from one foot to the other, his frustration building with each passing minute. "What are they on about?" he grumbled, gesturing at Rose and the Doctor. "Look at them! Look!"

Martha arched her brow at him. "Yeah, I see them."

"What the hell is he waiting for, then? They're obviously into each other. He's holding her hand and they're makin' eyes at each other. It's sickening, really. So why the hell doesn't he just ask her out to that gala of his? Urrrrgh!"

"I think he may need a little help with that."

"What? Why? She's beautiful and available and–"

"Yeah, but from his point of view, she's at work. And who knows what else is going on in his head. Maybe he just needs another little nudge."

"Blimey, he needs more than a nudge. He needs someone to connect the bloody dots."

"Off you go then, Mickey-Matchmaker. Go connect those dots."

"Me? Why me? Don't you think this might require a woman's touch?"

"Look, this was your idea…"

Mickey glowered at his fiancée.

_"Not_ that I think it's a bad idea. Like you said, they're obviously… attracted."

"Attracted? They're practically undressing each other with their eyes!"

"Right. All I'm saying is you need to go out and finish the job."

"What about you? You just gonna stand here whilst I make a fool of myself?"

Martha flashed him a cheeky grin. "Yeah, something like that. Consider it moral support."

"Pffft, moral support, my arse." He scowled. "Well, since you're obviously gonna leave me high and dry… here goes!" He took a step out toward the table where Rose and the Doctor were lost in each other's gazes but pulled up short at Martha's next words.

"Oh, and by the way, for _my part_, I already contacted Amy." She arched a smug brow.

"And…"

"She can't wait to help out. Champing at the bit, she is!" Then Martha added in a stage-whisper, "So Rose will have no excuses. Don't let her worm her way out of this."

James sat staring blankly at the bloke (Rickey?), a piece of biscotti half-way to his mouth. His brain had surged into overdrive, processing information and probabilities, but it seemed to have forgotten it was connected to his gob, which opened and closed uselessly. He looked over at Rose who gawped back at him with an expression that probably mirrored his own.

He had to admit, the bloke's plan had merit. He could see himself falling for this girl. If he was being honest, he was already teetering at the edge. He'd just never considered asking a total stranger to accompany him to the gala (apart from his fleeting research into escorts), and he wasn't entirely sure Rose was even vaguely interested. For one thing, it was all very last minute, the epitome of last minute; frankly, if he could define _last minute_, this would be it. Secondly, weeell, while she obviously didn't have any plans to celebrate the New Year, she had _plans_… working-type plans, plans that were obviously very important to her. And much more important than his stupid University Gala. And, C, no three… _thirdly_, why the hell would she even want to go out with him? He thought he'd felt some attraction between them, but she didn't _know_ anything about him… zip, zilch, nada, nought! He could be an axe-murderer for all she knew, a rapist, a–

His rambling thoughts screeched to a halt as he saw her expression morphing from shock and bewilderment to…

"What the actual fuck, Mickey?" she hissed at the young man who stood before them with a proud grin on his face. _Her_ face was now fiery with embarrassment and anger. "How dare you?"

James tugged on his ear and watched, helpless, as Rickey's grin collapsed. "But it's perfect, babe, don't you see?" James had to give the man credit. He'd never be able to face the wrath this bloke was facing, despite having survived Donna (and Aunt Sylvia) for many years. "_He_ needs a date. _You_ need to get a life. Simple." Rickey (the idiot) ploughed on, clearly oblivious or indifferent to the immediate threat to his existence.

"Oh, I need to get a life, do I?" Rose snarled. "What is all of this, then?" She gestured around the shop. "Seems to me I have a life. A perfectly good life, thank-you very much. I don't need you–"

"Yeah? Well, me and Martha, we think you do. Babe, you never see beyond these four walls, except to go upstairs–"

"To my home!"

"Home then. My point is, you never leave this building, except to pick up things for the shop."

"This is my dream…"

"Look, Rickey…" James interjected, shooting a glance at Rose, who was glaring at her friend with pursed lips.

"It's Mickey!" Mickey snapped.

"Right, sorry… Mickey then… Look, mate, I appreciate what you're trying to do, and I certainly wouldn't say no to having Rose on my arm at the Gala this evening, but–"

Rose swept around to face him, the fire in her eyes dying out and a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "You wouldn't?"

James ran his hand through his hair again (he must look a mess…) "Weeell, no… no, of course not… I'd be honoured… Would you like to come?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Would you, though?"

"Yeah!"

"I just thought because you don't really know me…"

"Yeah, I thought because _you_ don't really know _me…_ and I just… I just work in a shop; you might not want me to…"

"Oh, I'd love you to come," he gushed.

James sensed, rather than saw Mickey backing slowly away. His attention was riveted on the beautiful, blushing woman sitting before him. She beamed at him, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. "Okay."

He beamed in return, but his smile quickly dropped away, doubts racing back to the front of his mind. "But you… I mean, you don't know the first thing about me…." He glanced down at the remains of his biscotti, pushing the crumbs around with a restless finger.

Rose's hand closed over his, stopping his fidgeting. "I know a little… and," she fixed him in her warm gaze, "I'd like to know more… But, oh God… oh no! I don't have anything to wear. Certainly nothing that would do for an event like this one!"

"All taken care of," a young woman James hadn't noticed before piped up from the service counter. "Amy is more than happy to lend you something. It's all arranged."

"But, Martha…"

"No excuses!" Mickey added. "You're going! You deserve to get out and enjoy yourself."

Rose turned her nervous smile back to James and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I'm going, then. That is if you'd still like me to come."

James felt his spirits soar. For the first time in weeks he didn't feel like he was plunging head-first into the depths of despair. Maybe his tux wasn't such a portent of doom, after all. "Oh, yes!" He swept to his feet and offered her his hand. "It's a date!"

"Yeah…" she chirped, standing and lacing her fingers with his, "…I guess it is!"

"Oh, yes!" he repeated. "Allons-y, Rose Tyler."


End file.
